Page 6 of A Rake's Redemption
“I do not care much for titles,” he said. “Mr. Ashley will do.”
Inis hid her surprise. The aristocrats she knew bandied their titles about, except for her father—God rest his soul—who’d always said peerage was the luck of the marriage bed. “Aye, my…Mr. Ashley.”
He narrowed his eyes as he scrutinized her. “You look rather slight to be a hostler.”
“Doona let my size fool ye.” She gave him the toothy smile she’d seen the young street ruffians in Dublin use successfully. “Some of Ireland’s best jockeys are no bigger than lads.”
“That is true.” He looked thoughtful and then motioned toward the barn. “I have a filly in there that needs some training. Let us see what you can do.”
…
What was he thinking? Inis was no larger than a child, and his voice had not yet changed. How old was the lad?
Alex chided himself for not asking John for more details before he accepted the wager last night. When the man said the boy had been robbed going to a brothel, Alex had assumed he’d be older. And bigger. Alex sighed. If the boy couldn’t handle the horses, he’d have to find something else for the lad to do. Too many ragamuffins already roamed the streets of London.
He watched as the boy approached the filly’s stall. He crooned softly to the horse, his voice surprisingly light and pleasant like the boys’ choir at Westminster. Given that the child was probably no more than three-and-ten, that was not surprising. Nor was the smallness of the hand that gently stroked the filly’s neck. The horse nickered and closed her eyes contently, and Alex grinned.
“What’s her name?” Inis inquired.
“Brighton Gold. Gold both for the color of her coat and because her sire came from the Prince Regent’s stables.”
“Do ye mind if I call her Goldie?”
Alex smiled. No doubt his pompous-ass brother would go into a complete dither about such a common name for a horse from royal bloodlines, even though the filly belonged to Alex. “Goldie it is.”
“Has she had the saddle on yet?” Inis asked.
“Yes, but she is skittish. I am not sure you should ride her yet.”
The boy gave him a direct look. “If ye want me to be your horse handler, ye need to let me ride.”
Alex had his doubts that someone so small should be put on a horse not fully broken, but the filly seemed to respond well to the lad’s touch. “Let me saddle her then.”
“I can do it,” Inis said and opened the stall door to lead the filly out.
Inis did seem to know his way around the horse. Alex watched as the lad brought out the tack, examined the girth, adjusted the stirrups, and then warmed the bit in his hand before inserting it into the horse’s mouth. He was nimble enough in mounting, although he used the block to do so. But then Alex could hardly expect someone barely five feet tall to vault onto a horse’s back like he did.
The lad guided the filly around the paddock next to the stable with light hands. He had one of those rare seats that made him seem part of the horse. He walked, posted, turned in figure eights, and then nudged Goldie into a canter and his cap flew off.
Alex stared at the abundance of long, red curls tumbling down the lad’s back.
Not a lad.
A lass.
…
Inis made a wild grab for her cap, only to feel the wind blowing her hair free. The blood drained from her face and she reined in the horse. She slid off Goldie and buried her face in the filly’s mane. She didn’t dare look at her new employer—quite probably, herformeremployer. Sweet Mary, what was going to happen now?
“When were you planning to tell me you’re a girl?”
She jumped at the sound of his voice close to her ear. She hadn’t heard him approach. Warmth coursed through her cold hand as he closed his own over it to take the reins from her.
She turned and slanted her gaze upward through her loose hair. He didn’t look angry. He hadn’t sounded angry, either. More like confused. It gave her the courage to look at him directly. “I wasna planning to.”
One dark eyebrow rose. “No? That would be hard to hide for long, even if you are little more than a child—”
“I am almost two-and-twenty,” she said and then clapped a hand over her mouth when Alex’s other brow rose as well. His eyes darkened slowly, as though she’d piqued his interest. She should have let him think her a child. Why could she not control her temper?
